


Yours, Mine and Ours

by romanticalgirl



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 10:45:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who was busy bringing up 22 Marines of his own</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yours, Mine and Ours

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/profile)[**inlovewithnight**](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/) and [](http://alethialia.livejournal.com/profile)[**alethialia**](http://alethialia.livejournal.com/) for beta and general all-around awesome. For [](http://sparky77.livejournal.com/profile)[**sparky77**](http://sparky77.livejournal.com/) and [](http://hackthis.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://hackthis.livejournal.com/)**hackthis** , because I'm relatively certain they are evil and completely to blame.
> 
> Originally posted 6-24-09

There are three things in the world that Ray Person knows better than anyone else – pussy, radios and Brad Colbert. Occasionally he’ll admit someone can get the better of him when it comes to the first two, but no one - _no one_ \- knows Brad better than him.

Which is why Ray knows things are going to hell the second he meets Nate Fick.

It’s not that Fick’s pretty, though he is. He’s fucking prep school, sensitive, poetry-reading jock material. Movies like _Dead Poet’s Society_ are made about people like Nate Fick, and the fact that he’s a fucking Devil Dog doesn’t change that fact. It’s that he’s fucking competent, and Ray knows that nothing is going to get to Brad like competence.

It doesn’t even bother Ray how fucking gay it is that Fick’s a guy and Brad’s a guy and there’s a possibility, given how fucking hard Brad’s going to fall for this guy, there’s going to be some level of faggotry. What bothers him is that it’s taken Ray this goddamn long to get Brad back together and he doesn’t need some pretty boy fucktard breaking him again.

Before Brad gets back to Pendleton from his Easy Rider/Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas road trip, Ray does his recon, checking in with Pappy and Rudy and Lilley about what the new LT is like. He hears stories and he knows half of them are bullshit, but it’s also clear that Fick’s no pussy who’s riding on someone else’s coattails. His scores are easy enough to find out, and no one gets into Recon because they kissed somebody’s ass. Kicked it, yes.

Of course, Fick’s got no idea what he’s in for. He’s about to get eighteen more fucked-up, gun-crazy, psycho Marines of his very own and one of those is going to be the Iceman. Ray has to find a way to run interference until he can figure Nate out, make it clear that Brad is not to be fucked with. It’s always hard, gauging a new commanding officer, but Ray’s found that sometimes knowing Brad is all he needs to know if there’s going to be a problem.

“You must be Corporal Person.”

Ray looks up from his gear and blinks. At a distance, Nate Fick is pretty. Up close he’s like a fucking baby – perfect skin and big eyes, innocence like a motherfucker. Shit. This is worse than he thought. “Sir.” He straightens and salutes Nate, dropping his hand for a handshake when Nate sticks his own out. “How are you finding Pendleton, sir?”

Fick’s eyebrow goes up, and Ray’s pretty sure that his reputation has preceded him, but no sense in giving the game away too quickly. “Huh, and they told me I wouldn’t have a bullshitting ass kisser. I guess they were wrong.”

Okay, maybe Fick’s not quite as bad as he figured. At least until he turns and Ray sees him without the sun behind his head and he gets a load of Nate Fick up-fucking-close. Ray nearly groans. Brad’s a fucking goner. “I promise, sir, if anyone kisses your ass, you send ‘em to me and I’ll straighten them the fuck out for you.”

“I’m pretty sure I can handle it on my own, Corporal.”

“We’re a delicate touch, we Marines, sir.” Ray shakes his head ruefully. “You got a platoon of mama’s boys, wishing they were back sucking milk from a titty rather than sucking MREs and cordite. Can barely handle their own dicks, sir, much less an M19.”

“That’s what I’ve heard.” Nate gives Ray a smile that Ray is pretty sure has ‘Brad Colbert is _mine_ ’ written all over it. “Biggest bunch of pussies in the Corps.”

Ray smirks and glances around, making sure there’s no one near them. “I need to talk to you, sir.”

“We are talking, Corporal.”

“Sir, it’s about one of your team leaders. Colbert.”

“What about him, Corporal?”

“Well, sir. You’ve probably heard rumors about the Sergeant. Scaled mountains on a broken ankle, wrestled alligators on his seventh birthday, and swam around the world before lunch. It’s important that you know it’s all bullshit, sir. Brad Colbert is a ruse. A fraud. He’s nothing more than a sycophantic dickwad, hoping to earn a few more stripes by sucking Schwetje’s cock. You can’t trust him, sir, and you really need to keep your distance. Don’t be tainted by him. You know what they say about the Hebrew people, sir.”

“They’re smart and business savvy?”

“Lazy bastards, sir. The entire lot of them. I’m just warning you. You have a good and exciting career ahead of you. Don’t fuck it up with Colbert.”

“I’ll take it under advisement, Corporal.”

“Ask anyone, sir. Hear the truth behind their lies.” Ray hefts his pack and throws it over his shoulder, heading back toward the building.

Fick falls in step with him, his hands behind his back, clasped at the wrist. “Is there a reason you’re warning me off Sergeant Colbert? Power struggles? Authority issues?”

“Brad? Fuck, sir. He’s been in military school since he broke into the school and posted all the teacher’s tests and answers on the bulletin boards, full time since he stole the neighbor’s Harley when he was ten and souped it up and took it for a joy ride. If he doesn’t have authority riding his ass, Brad will bring about the end of days.”

“So?”

“You’d just be better off keeping your distance, sir. If you know what’s good for you.”

**

Ray’s not there the day Brad and Fick meet. He spends the day and night not moving more than an inch at a time, infiltrating a guerilla encampment with four other guys. They get the pictures taken and uploaded in record time and end up waiting for their rescue bird to show up, making the drop point well before the rendezvous time. When they get back to Pendleton, most of the other guys are in the barracks, already telling lies and flipping each other shit. Ray slaps the hands and backs and asses of guys he knows, insulting the ones he hasn’t met yet, as he makes his way toward the last bunk on the deck, knowing that Brad’s going to have claimed it and called it home.

“Well, if it isn’t Mother Nature’s cruelest mistake.” Poke slaps Ray on the back of the head and shoves him toward the wall. Ray moves with the momentum and catches himself, grabbing the rack above Brad’s and hauling himself into it.

“Nice to see you too, Espera. What, they didn’t catch your wetback ass and kick you back over the border?”

“Someone’s got to pick your oranges, dawg. The white man can’t get his pussy hands dirty.”

“Don’t mock what gives you purpose.” Ray leans over the edge of the bed and glances down at Brad. “Honey! You’re home!”

“Bravo Two.”

The men scramble, ending in two perfectly straight lines down the barracks. It takes no more than a heartbeat before they’re all at attention, their time off doing nothing to slow their reflexes.

“All right, boys.” Gunny Wynn looks around at all of them, smirking with a wad of chew making his lip protrude. “There are rumors going around that y’all are the most elite fighting force in all of the United States armed services. I look around and all I see are limp-wristed pussies hoping they’re going to get shipped to North Carolina to sit on the beach and jerk off while the rest of the Corps is working. Is that what I see?”

“No, sir.”

Gunny’s mouth folds into a smile. “Got somebody for you to meet.”

Fick is standing just behind Gunny, looking like he just graduated from pre-school. He’s in his uniform, and that makes him look maybe second-grade, but Ray’s not giving him more than that. Nate walks down the line, inspecting them, pausing here and there to say something to someone. When he gets to Ray, he cocks an eyebrow that speaks awfully fucking eloquently, which reminds Ray of Brad, which reminds Ray that he’s got to keep this from going straight in the shitter.

“Corporal Person.”

Ray nods. “Sir.”

“I thought I should let you know I had a chance to meet with Sergeant Colbert here and he was, to a T, exactly the man you described.”

“He what? I mean, of course he was, sir.”

“I appreciate your inside information.” Fick nods again and then moves to stand in front of Brad. Ray doesn’t move his head – he’s a fucking Marine after all – but he can see from the corner of his eye that Brad’s got the beginnings of a grin on his face, and Ray knows - _goddamned fucking knows_ \- that he’s going to have to change his strategy. Nobody resists Brad Colbert. Ray’s going to have to bring his commanding officer to his knees.

…or maybe not. Putting him on his knees is bound to give Brad ideas.

**

There’s a protocol to the barracks. It’s not based on rank or even longevity. It’s all about the biggest dicks and the biggest mouths. There’s always a lot of hostility at first until everyone knows where everyone stands, but for the most part it’s all good-natured. Ray does his best to keep it from escalating, given that he’s something of a self-appointed social coordinator, using Reyes to cater their jerk-off sessions. He delegates a few of the things to Pappy and Poke just to keep things running while he concentrates all his major efforts on Brad.

Ray doesn’t remember exactly how it happened, but he’s pretty sure there was tequila and an Olivia Newton John song involved. It was some cheap-ass bar in TJ and most everyone had found themselves a whore or a donkey and it was just Brad and Ray at the table, with a few people passed out under it. Brad had been halfway through the tequila, which was rare enough, but he was singing along like some lovesick teenaged girl who just discovered her teen idol was blowing boys in the back of his tour bus.

“The fuck is your problem?” Ray finally asked

Brad looked at him, glanced at the clock and informed him that five years ago, on that very day, his girlfriend and his best friend had informed him that they were getting married. He’d just gotten back from Somalia in some peacekeeping clusterfuck and they were not only informing him of their impending fucking nuptials, but they were wondering if he’d be the best fucking man and by the way, Sarah was breaking up with him and the wedding was next weekend.

Ray plied him with more tequila and then they’d started on a second bottle, and before Ray knew it, he’d heard pretty much the entire sordid story. He’s fairly certain he promised Brad he’d rip Sarah’s head off if he ever saw her, and he’d castrate the bastard that insinuated he was even a friend to Brad, much less his best friend, when obviously he was a cuckolding dicksmack. Brad nodded along and eventually passed out in a bowl of peanuts, leaving Ray staring at him and wondering what the fuck he was supposed to do now.

The answer to that had been ‘take care of Brad without Brad even realizing it’, which involved well-placed comments to the few people Brad let get close enough to cause any damage or, more likely, set off Ray’s radar. Poke had been thoroughly screened (married, straight and not in awe of Brad at all except when it came to the Marine Corps bullshit), and Ray had not-so-subtly escorted more than a few women to the edges of Brad’s life before kicking their asses to the curb. There were two people that got close before Ray had a chance to clear them out and Brad doesn’t mention them at all.

It’s not jealousy, which is what Walt says when he’s flipping Ray shit about wiping Brad’s ass, because Ray’s not in love with Brad. All Ray cares about is making sure none of them get killed, and that means keeping Brad happy. Brad unhappy means Brad under a car, Brad under the water or Brad anywhere but where he’s supposed to be. Ray likes Brad happy, and if that means he has to work his ass off to keep him that way, well, Ray’s okay with that. The problem is that, for as big a dick as Brad is in the world of killing people and being a badass, he’s also a complete and utter failure at protecting himself.

Ray realizes this after a week when he comes out of the mess and Brad’s leaning against the side of the building talking to Fick. The conversation is animated and amusing if the matching smiles on their faces are any indication, and it’s also unguarded, which pisses Ray off a lot. Brad always has his guard up, and Fick has not been authorized to slip past that guard, to get close. Ray’s invested too much in the fucking egg shell that’s holding Brad Colbert together to let Nate Fick Humpty Dumpty his ass into pieces again.

“Brad. You wanted to go over the codes.”

Brad looks over and Ray curses silently under his breath. He’s already fucking _gone_. “Yeah. I’ll be right there, Ray.” Ray doesn’t move and Brad looks back at Fick and then again at Ray. “Right. Right. Coming, dear.”

“Goodnight, Sergeant. Corporal.”

“Don’t get all complacent,” Ray mutters to Brad as they move out of Fick’s hearing range. “Just because he’s stroking your dick now, don’t think he’s going to put out. He’s a fucking officer.”

“You sound jealous, Ray.” Brad pats Ray on the head. “That’s so sweet.”

“Hey, you want to fuck around with command, don’t come crying to me when they screw you without lube.”

Brad gives Ray an appraising look and Ray glares back at him, knowing his face is probably flushed. “I’m just feeling him out, Ray.”

“Yeah, well, looks like you’re feeling him up.”

“Pretty sure the LT isn’t the type.”

“Yeah, well.” Ray slams open the door to the barracks and moves over to their transmitter. “He’s an officer. You never can tell.”

**

When they board the carrier for Timor, Ray knows the shit’s going to hit the fan. He’s been on a goddamned oversized sardine can before, and he knows that there’s no such thing as privacy. He also knows that Brad’s going to get all fucking starry-eyed over all that fucking ocean and be jerking off like he’s some sort of fucking octopus, all hands and dick, squirting ink and come on the bulkheads because he’s jizzed up from the salt fucking air or something.

Ray’s fine with knowing this. What bothers him is that Brad’s not being _Brad_ about it. To everyone else, he’s still the Iceman, but Ray sees the cracks in his armor. He sees the way Brad watches Nate, the way he’s following him with his eyes. He tells himself it’s respect, because he’s seen Brad watch Patterson the same way, but there’s something else.

It comes to him when they get to Australia and they go to the brothel. Brad sits at the bar and orders a drink and he surveys the room, skimming over scantily clad women with boobs that defy fucking gravity. Ray knows what Brad’s doing and he’s pretty sure he’s going to have to bust some heads. First though, it’s imperative that he get Brad laid.

He knows Brad’s type, and it’s not the type you find in a whorehouse, but he also knows the next best thing. She’s got strawberry blonde hair Ray once saw on the side of a box and she’s dressed up like some school girl in a Britney Spears video, only with even less class. He buys her a drink and pays her way and pushes her over toward Brad. It’s never hard to get them to give up on him in favor of the Viking Sex God, and it only bothers him a little bit, but then Ray has, for once in his life…or at least this tour, more important things to do than get his rocks off.

He’s got to have a talk with his commanding officer.

**

Nate’s at a bar not far from where the carrier’s docked and he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. Ray would put money on a library or a museum or some other pussy equivalent of culture. He’s also surrounded by a bunch of other officers, which makes Ray almost sympathetic, but not quite.

“Sir?” Fick’s head lifts from his beer and Ray wonders if he got carded when he bought it. “Do you have a minute?”

Fick nods and gets to his feet, following Ray out of the bar. They walk a ways in silence until they get to a bench and Ray sits on the back of it, feet on the bench, and looks at Fick for a long time.

“What did you want to talk about, Corporal?”

“It’s about Colbert, sir.”

Fick’s eyebrow goes up smoothly and Ray remembers that he’s not the babe in the woods he appears to be. It doesn’t mean he’s not going to crush Brad like a fucking nut though, and that’s really all Ray cares about. “Is there a problem with the Sergeant?”

Ray pauses and scratches at his knee before meeting Fick’s eyes. It’s never come to this before and Ray’s aware that, if Brad ever finds out about this moment, he will not kill Ray so much as make him beg for death. “Permission to speak freely?”

“Absolutely.”

“You’re the problem, sir.” Fick’s eyebrow reaches new heights and he crosses his arms over his chest. He stance is still relatively relaxed though, so Ray keeps going. “I’ve worked with and known Brad a long time.”

“I’m aware of your history.”

“No, sir. You’re not. You’re aware of what our files say and you know what wars we’ve fought and you know where we smuggled shit into and out of countries in the dead of night, but you don’t know shit about our history, sir. You don’t know shit about _us_ , sir, and that’s as it should be.”

Fick shifts and Ray watches him carefully, drawing an invisible line in his head of when Fick’s promise of speaking freely will end. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps his gaze level on Ray, which is both impressive and intimidating, or would be, if Ray gave a shit about intimidation, but he’s been hanging around Brad Fucking Colbert, which means he doesn’t _get_ intimidated. He _does_ the intimidating.

“I’m just saying, sir, that there’s a reason that there are enlisted men and there are officers and never the twain shall fucking meet. So it’s imperative that you realize that you need to keep your distance.”

“Are you implying that Sergeant Colbert and myself have had some sort of illicit contact, Corporal?”

Ray knows the line when he slams up against it and nearly strangles himself with it. Brad _respects_ this guy, which means there’s no fucking way in hell that Nate’s done something that might even have a passing acquaintance with impropriety. “No, sir. Fuck, no. Jesus. I’m not that fucking stupid.”

Nate’s eyebrows both go up and Ray holds up his hands in a sort of surrender.

“Okay, look, Brad…” Ray glances off in the distance then looks Nate in the eye. “They call Brad the Iceman, but it’s a bunch of bullshit. He’s not ice. He’s not even close. He’s not even a fucking slushy. He’s a stone cold warrior when you put him in uniform and put a gun in his hand and point him at the bad guys and say attack, but in the real world, he’s a pussy.”

“I’m sure he appreciates your estimation of him.”

“Look, you know those fucking geniuses who can tell you to the forty-eighth fucking decimal point when the world’s going to end, but they leave the fucking stove on and burn their house down? Brad’s like that on an emotional level, okay? He’ll fuck you up six ways to Sunday. He will tear down your house and rebuild you a new one made of fucking adobe and computer circuits, but if you fuck him over, if you hurt him, he’s wandering around like fucking Moses in the desert looking for a new homeland.”

Fick relaxes slightly, smiling just a bit as he slides his hands into his pockets. “Are you insinuating, Corporal, that I’m going to break Sergeant Colbert’s heart?”

Ray looks Fick in the eye. “Yes, sir.”

“You’re…” Fick stops and regards Ray for a long time. “You’re serious. I was unaware that Sergeant Colbert is…”

“I’m not talking about sex.” Ray gets off the bench and walks off a ways then turns around and comes back. “He trusts you. He respects you. He fucking treats you like you’re not a fucking officer, like you’re one of _us_. That’s the highest compliment he pays _anybody_. But you _are_ an officer, which means at some point, you’re going to fuck us over through your own incompetence or someone else’s, and Brad’s going to take it personally.”

“I’m a little vague on what you’re expecting of me here, Corporal.” Ray frowns at Fick’s grin, though it’s clear from his look that, whatever amusement he’s getting out of this, he’s taking Ray somewhat seriously. “If I do my job, eventually I’m going to run afoul of your fundamental law of Brad Colbert. If I don’t, we’re all going to be up shit creek. So how about you tell me what I need to do to appease whatever it is that we’re actually discussing here.”

“What?”

“Well, I’m just thinking, Corporal, that perhaps there’s more at work here than some altruistic concern on Sergeant Colbert’s behalf.”

“Let me put it this way, sir. You hurt him and all the goddamned stripes in the world aren’t going to fucking save you.” Ray stands face to face with Fick and he can see his own reflection in his eyes, determined and angry.

“I have no intention of hurting him.”

“Doesn’t mean you won’t.”

Fick nods slowly and he tilts his head slightly. Ray gets it, he does. He gets what Brad sees and why Brad fucking _likes_ Fick, but that doesn’t change the foreboding that churns in his gut. A pretty face fucked Brad over once before, and Ray’s not stupid enough to think it can’t happen again. “He’s lucky to have a friend like you.”

“Yeah. He is.”

“I’ll do everything I can to insure that he’s lucky to have a lieutenant like me.” Fick smiles and Ray hopes like fuck that Brad never sees that goddamned grin. Ray’s never asked Brad if he’s fucked a guy, but he knows Brad well enough to not have to ask, which means that Nathaniel Fick is going to end up in Brad’s pants no matter what Ray says. “I’m not going to hurt him, Ray.”

“Yeah.” Ray’s throat is thick and he realizes that he can’t stop this. It’s inevitable because Fick and Brad _click_ on a level that Ray doesn’t get, doesn’t share, and because he’s too late and probably has been from the beginning. “Make sure you don’t.”

“Ray.” Fick reaches out and touches Ray’s shoulder and Ray turns to look at him. Fick shrugs and smiles, a barely there curve to his lips that Ray’s only ever seen him use on Brad. “Think of it this way. With me around, he’s going to need you more than ever.”

Ray’s brow furrows and then he smiles, slow and satisfied. “Damn right he will. Ha! Brad totally owes me a whore.” Ray laughs and steps back, stopping suddenly. “Permission to be dismissed, sir?”

“You’re actually _asking_ me?”

“Seemed rude not to.”

“Dismissed, Corporal.”

“Thank you, sir.” Ray jogs off, turning around and running backwards. “And sorry.”

“Sorry?” Nate asks.

“Yeah. About getting Brad a whore. My bad.”


End file.
